Prince Warrior Brother Son
by ncis-lady
Summary: He is dressed in regal armour that doesn't fit the image she used to have of him. He looks like a prince now, and a prince he was supposed to be, but she will always remember how he looked in those weathered clothes when they first met. - Funeral scene, mini on-shot.


**Prince. Warrior. Brother. Son.**

The light of a thousand candles casts shadows onto the dark walls. There are tapestries, so rich in colour, that tell stories of old and still carry the dust of these past times. Armour and weapons, gold and silver and everything between, reflect the light in all directions, bathing the hall in a soft light as the words of strangers echo from the stones.

She doesn't see any of that. Her gaze is fixed on the three stone pedestals and the ones who are lying there, peacefully and quiet as if they were sleeping. But she knows they will never wake.

He is dressed in regal armour that doesn't fit the image she used to have of him. He looks like a prince now, and a prince he was supposed to be, but she will always remember how he looked in those weathered clothes when they first met. His weapons are laid out next to him, polished and deadly, exquisitely crafted, made by dwarven smiths to last for centuries. But he will not need them in the place that is now his home. She knows that dwarves go to the halls of their fathers when they die, and that this is why they will never meet again.

She can feel her eyes stinging as someone else begins to talk. He praises the fallen warrior, his courage and his will to fight for his kin. Loyalty, honour, a willing heart, aye, and the dwarves around him nod in agreement and bow their heads. A fine warrior he has been, one of the best, and he will forever be remembered for his valiant death.

Her eyes fall onto a female dwarf standing next to the grim, tattooed one who is standing rigidly throughout the whole ceremony. She has never seen a dwarrowdam before, but she knows, without a doubt, who she is. Even from the distance, the resemblance with her sons is striking. And while the unknown dwarf is still praising the warrior's death, she knows that his words have no meaning for the mother left behind. The mother doesn't need those words, too small to fill the void that death has created in her soul, when all she wishes for is that she could sing her son one last lullaby.

A tear rolls down her cheek, slowly finding its way towards the corner of her mouth. It leaves a salty taste on her tongue, but she doesn't mind.

The wizard begins to speak about the fallen king, about life and death and war and peace. She barely hears him. She cannot take her eyes off him and his brother, those two who have taken care of each other and who will now be forever united in the next life. She has seen how strong their bond was. She realised, even then, that one would never live without the other. If one had gone, back then in Laketown, the other would have followed. It's a special bond, that between siblings, she knows that.

She wonders what his childhood has been like. She doesn't know much about dwarves and their culture, and now she wishes she had asked him. She would have asked about his home, his family, about his dreams and fears and if he has left someone behind who will now wait in vain for his return.

The ceremony comes to an end. Last words are spoken, for a last time they bow their heads in reverence, and the last thing she sees before the stone door is closed forever is the soft light of the Arkenstone on the fallen king's breast.

Her eyes are moist and she wonders why she cries over someone she barely knew. They met only briefly, for one short moment their lifelines touched, but now his has been cut short and hers will lead her into a new life in a new home. But there is something about him that she understood the first time she saw him. His love for his brother, his way of taking responsibility, his almost desperate attempt to hide his insecurities around those who look at him for advice.

Prince. Warrior. Brother. Son.

He is all of that, and so much more.

But to her, he will always be the one who put his life on the line for her without hesitation. He will always be the one who threw himself between her and the orcs at her door, the one who looked at her for the briefest of moments to make sure she was alright, the one who shielded her against the dragon's flames and who remembered her name when they said their goodbyes much too quickly at the shores of her burning city.

She flinches when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She looks up, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, and forces herself to a small smile.

"I'm sure he would have liked your words, Da."

Her father looks thoughtful for a moment.

"I hope so, for he surely deserves our respect, despite everything. It should not have ended like that, neither for him nor for his nephews. They were good lads."

She wants to reply, but she cannot speak. She fears she will start crying again, and she won't do that, not before her father. She is the eldest, after all, and she will be alright.

"Sigrid?"

But he understands.

"Come here, my brave girl."

It's only when she buries her face against his chest that she allows the tears to run freely. No one will see her, for her father will shield her as he has ever done.

It's what family will always do.

 _And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind_

 _In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined_

 _And though you died back in 1916_

 _To that loyal heart you're forever nineteen_

("The green fields of France", Eric Bogle)

* * *

A/N 1: It was my intent to have you speculate about the characters until the end. So if you thought that it was about Tauriel and Kíli, well, I hope you're not mad at me. I had the idea for this story a while ago and then I listened to the song quoted above (Dropkick Murphys' version, though) and just had to write it down, even though it's a very short story.

A/N 2: I don't really ship Fíli and Sigrid, but I feel like Sigrid really would have liked him and they would have gotten along well. They are both the eldest sibling, they both lost a parent, they both had to look after their younger sibling(s) and thus had to grow up at a young age. I absolutely loved Fíli in DOS when he threw himself – unarmed! – at the orcs at the door and well, there can never be too many Fíli appreciation fics! Their goodbye in Laketown is my own imagination, as is Fíli shielding her from Smaug's fire (I can't remember where everyone was sitting in th eboat). But it's certainly something I could imagine him to do!


End file.
